


No Control

by cheyannekaytlynn



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Angst, Canon: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood, Fix-It, Fluff and Smut, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Porn With Plot, Post-Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-11
Updated: 2014-07-11
Packaged: 2018-02-08 08:31:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1934031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheyannekaytlynn/pseuds/cheyannekaytlynn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Look – shit, Ed,” he mumbled. “It’s been a long time.”</p>
<p>“Try almost thirteen years, bastard.”</p>
<p>[Contains spoilers for Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Control

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, guys! Please go easy on me, considering that this is my first work of fanfiction in years. (That's no joke, unfortunately.) I love constructive criticism, though!
> 
> Because I felt that one chapter was a little much, I'll be splitting this into two parts. The second will contain smut, so it that isn't your thing, you may want to stop when the first chapter comes to an end.
> 
> Unfortunately, I have no beta as of right now; any mistakes are completely my own. 
> 
> This work is very (very, very, very) loosely inspired by the song "Awkward Conversations" by The Front Bottoms. Excellent song, excellent band. Give them a try!
> 
> Thank you! Enjoy. :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first shot at writing fanfiction in years, so be a little easy on me, guys. Any mistakes are my own, considering that I am currently beta-less. I'd appreciate any corrections or constructive criticism! 
> 
> If you read this when it was first posted, you may want to read it again. I went over it and changed the tense, as well as a little bit of dialogue. However, it was nothing that changed the plot!
> 
> This story popped into my head while listening to "Awkward Conversations" by The Front Bottoms, but it's turned out way different than I imagined it would. It's very loosely inspired by it now, but you should give them a listen! 
> 
> Until next chapter, thank you for reading! Enjoy!

The train ride, he realizes tiredly, seems just as long then as it had all of those years ago – though impatience doesn’t tense his stature or cause his flesh tips to pound lightly against the arm of his seat. This time it’s nervousness that causes his entire being to be off; he isn’t prepared to be back in Central, though the male whom sits directly in front of him is. Though his chatter is quiet, he’s speaking excitedly to the blonde next to him. Edward heaves a sigh as his golden hues fall on the younger character, who flashes him a lop-sided grin.

“Isn’t that right, brother?” he’s asking, his brown-eyed gaze expectant.

“What?” he asks, trying to catch up to the conversation moments too late – he was saying something about weddings. What had he been saying? “Uh, yeah. Sure.”

“It’s been so long since any of us have seen her, Al,” Winry finally says from her position next to him, her crystalline hues filled with the same enthusiasm that Alphonse’s has – the feeling that Ed reciprocates for the event, but not for the memories it’s seeming to bring along. “She’s going to make a beautiful bride.”

“Brigadier General Hughes would be proud,” the youngest of the trio says, his toothy smile never faltering.

* * *

 

The problem with this trip, he thinks bitterly, isn’t the wedding itself, but instead the company the event includes. Edward hasn’t been back to central in  _years_ ; the last time he had set foot in the city had been just months after The Promised Day, when he had found himself saying goodbye to  _that_  bastard for what he thought to be the last time. He grunts as he clenches his right fist, fighting the urge to find the bloody king of Amestris and punch his lights out right in the moment. He remembers the way he had smoothed his hand down his newly-returned arm, breathing something about how beautiful it was – how beautiful Ed was. “What would be fucking beautiful,” he grumbles as he sits down on the bed, golden gaze focused on his reflection in the mirror. “Would be giving the fucking Führer something to think about – starting with my foot in his ass.”

But Edward knows that he won’t ever have the power to do it. Especially not with all of Mustang’s fucking guards – and not in a reception hall in front of a million and one Amestrians that are going to gather to witness Elicia Hughes exchange vows with one of the men under Führer King Mustang’s command. The blond sighs, heavy eyelids closing over bright hues. Tomorrow is going to be a fucking nightmare.

* * *

 

The gathering before the wedding is interesting, to say the least. Officials, family members, and other guests all mingle together, and Edward stays close to his brother, the social know-it-all, even as they are greeted by military personnel and Amestrians that were, at one time, as close as family. It’s odd to be surrounded by familiar faces that he hasn’t seen in years; he almost feels at home around them, though the pit of his stomach is filled with anxiety – as well as delicious hors d’oeuvres, – and is almost comfortable with the situation. He finally relaxes just a bit, though he is still careful to peek around for that damn fiery man who looked so natural in blue.

“Edward! Al! It’s so nice that you two could join us,” he hears a sweet female voice say behind him, and he is quick to snap his head around to lay eyes on her. Age, he tells himself, has affected everyone that he had been reunited with, but time will never hinder the kindness and warmth that fills Gracia’s eyes. He finds himself grinning without meaning to, reaching out to curl his arms around her after his brother has released her from his own embrace. “I saw Winry speaking with Jean – I knew you two couldn’t be far.”

“It’s great to see you,” Al is responding, and Ed feels the warm weight of his brother’s hand on his shoulder. “I can’t believe Elicia’s old enough to get married.”

“Yeah, the years have flown by,” Edward agrees with a nod, fingers tugging the wrinkles out of the front of his suit jacket. “And to think that she’s marrying into the military. Seems like she follows after both of you.”

Gracia’s laugh is just as soft as the rest of her. It feels good to hear and see the happiness that radiates from the woman that the eldest Elric has always respected. “She does, yes,” she tells the pair. “She’s definitely as brave as Maes was; Roy and I were just speaking last night about how much she resembles him – what a heart she has, too.”

At the mention of Roy, Al squeezes his brother’s shoulder before dropping his hand. He’s speaking once more, keeping Edward from getting carried away in his thoughts. “Speaking of Führer Mustang,” he says, brown-hued gaze flicking to the face of his elder brother. “Where is he?”

“Oh, you boys didn’t know?” she asks with a grin. “He agreed to walk her down the aisle. Elicia insisted – she’s always looked up to Roy.”

Ed’s lids slip over his golden gaze as he nods, and he’s grateful when he hears an usher near them say that it’s time for everyone to get to their seats. The trio quickly says their promises of catching up later, and a moment later, Al is leading him to find Winry and then to their seats.

* * *

 

The wedding had been lovely; Edward could only begin to appreciate the sentiments that left the new bride’s and groom’s mouths, but he could tell that she was happy. He had even acknowledged – silently, of course; he couldn’t voice it to Al in fear that his brother would think that he was growing soft – how beautiful she had looked standing next to even the finest and most worshipped man in the entire country. (Edward had tried to keep his eyes off of the ebony-haired creature, but it had been impossible. He was glad when Führer Mustang had stepped out of his line of vision.)

The reception afterward is just as elegant as the ceremony beforehand. Al promised him that they would reunite with his brother after a few rounds of dancing and Ed understands his desire to get away for a little while; Alphonse has always been able to work the room, to be so social even when he was stuck in a suit of armor. Instead of joining his sibling, he’s decided to grab a drink and watch from a safe distance. His gaze has finally fallen, like everyone else’s in the room, to the new bride and groom. A smile pulls at the corner of his lips as he watches the newlyweds, his hand stuffed in the pocket of his slacks. Although it’s clear that a presence is missing, the former alchemist knows that Hughes would have been just as proud as his wife if he were here, eyes glued to his daughter.

“A lovely couple, aren’t they, Mr. Elric?” he hears from beside him – and, god damn it, how had he not noticed the male being so close to him? His form goes rigid, his tongue suddenly too thick to form a reply; instead, his gaze turns hard and falls to the floor. “You know, I had my doubts when it came to him at first, but he’s such a skilled alchemist. Hughes probably would’ve come grumbling to me, telling me that he didn’t understand alchemists and their freakshows – but he’d have been proud. Major Alexandre is a force to be reckoned with.”

The long moment of silence that follows seems to break down the Führer’s demeanor and he sighs, shifting beside Edward. “Look – shit, Ed,” he mumbles. “It’s been a long time.”

“Try almost thirteen years, bastard,” the blonde finds himself hissing despite his swear to himself to stay quiet, staring down into the dark purple liquid in his glass. He has always hated wine, but he can  remember the vivid image of Roy holding a wine flute in his hand, looking so delicious – much more delicious than the beverage in his own grasp. “Thirteen fucking  _years_.”

“I know,” comes the quiet reply, and the younger character finally allows himself to glance over to the male who’s staring solemnly into the distance. “I didn’t mean to allow us to go this long without speaking, without—can we get out of here? Go somewhere a little less…merry?”

“Isn’t that the point of these things?” Ed asks. “To fucking marry and be merry?” He places his own flute down on the corner of the table before he turns to Mustang, hues filled with what he hope clearly portrays anger. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

* * *

 

The night air has grown cold in the hours that the man has spent inside. The complaint at the temperature change dies on his tongue, however, as he walks, slowly and silently, next to the character that he has spent so much of his time telling himself that he would avoid. He should have known that the task would be impossible – that Roy Mustang isn’t someone who would let him fall invisible in the crowd of people. He sighs, golden hues flicking up to the night sky, and hears the other clear his throat beside him.

“You’ve gotten taller,” he says, evoking an annoyed glare from Ed, the mention of his height still a sensitive subject after all of those years. He has gotten taller, he knows, but Alphonse has certainly gained the height of the family, standing half-a-head taller than the elder Elric. He is finally close to Roy’s height, though – a fact that certainly hasn’t gone unnoticed.

“You have grey hair,” he mumbles in return, watching as Roy’s face falls into something that resembled a pout. The reaction makes him grin.

“We can’t stay young forever, you know,” the elder of the pair mutters, dark blue hues meeting the golden pair. “However, I’m told that it makes me look… _respectable_.”

There is a moment of complete silence before laughter bubbles from Edward’s throat, filling the cool night air with a warmth that he has been nervous to spill with the other. The laugh brings a discontented noise from Roy’s throat, but it only seems to amuse Edward more, and the time it takes the younger character to recompose himself seems to stretch on for the Führer before silence rings loud once more.

“Respectable?” Edward is asking, catching his breath after the word is out. “That must put a bad taste in your mouth – that Roy fucking Mustang isn’t called ‘the oldest, hotter womanizer in the city.’ Shit, you bastard, did your heart break when that word was uttered to you?”

“I did burn the newspaper that it was stated in,” Mustang brags, a ghost of his once-familiar smirk on his lips.

“I bet Hawkeye was worried you’d cry,” Edward tells him, finally feeling at ease. “I bet she’s never seen you look so sad; she should’ve put you out of your misery.”

“She’s had the chance a few times,” he says with a soft, humorless laugh. The sound seems to sober both of their attitudes, causing Ed study him closely, watching as those deep blue eyes fall to the ground. It’s odd to see Roy so—out of his comfort zone; he suddenly looks like a man who has too much on his shoulders to bear, and the younger of the two can only imagine what was going on in the alchemist’s head. “So, Resembool – how’s it treating you?”

“It’s – home, I guess,” Edward tells him, meeting his gaze when Roy finally peers up. “I spent a lot of time traveling, studying after I left Central the last time. I’ve only really spent the last few years back home.”

“Hm. A lot’s changed, hasn’t it?”

Roy’s gaze is intense, weighing heavy on Ed’s heart; it makes the anxiousness he had felt earlier in the evening return, to settle deep in his stomach. He wants to avoid it, wants to it to move anywhere else, but he doesn’t allow himself to break the eye contact. “Yeah,” he finds himself whispering. “Yeah, it has.”

The words are barely out when he feels a gloved hand cup the back of his neck, and suddenly he’s pulled against Roy, and a pair of chapped, cool lips are pressed into his paler pair. His heart is hammering against his ribcage, but he is consumed by the presence of Roy— _Roy, Roy, Roy_. It’s so natural to return the kiss, and he is vaguely reminded of the one evening he had spent tasting the older male, of being promised that forever could be like that – just before the hope got ripped apart the next morning when the alchemist had told him that it couldn’t – it couldn’t fucking being like that. There was too much at stake to continue the relationship with his ex-subordinate.

_“The state wouldn’t approve,” he can remember Mustang saying, hair mussed and eyes still sleepy as he sat, cup of coffee in hand. “It was a mistake, Ed.”_

That same man is now looking down at him, blue hues filled with untamed emotion, and he is speaking. “—so sorry, Edward,” he is saying, long, gloved fingers brushing a thick strand of blond from Ed’s face. “I know I fucked up. Please let me make it up to you. Come home with me.”

And Edward, his fingers still gripping the thick coat that covers Führer Mustang’s blue uniform, believes that that is the absolute dumbest idea he has ever heard – but, then again, Roy Mustang has told him so many times that he doesn’t think before he acts. Tonight, it ends up, will be no different.

 


End file.
